


Nobody's Bitch

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Gang Rape, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Dean Winchester, Molestation, Non Consensual, Nudity, Prison, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John and Dean wind up in prison, Dean is an instant target and John is determined to protect his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Implied non-con and disturbing sexual scenarios.
> 
> Author’s Note: Takes place pre-series - Stanford era. Written for a blindfold_spn prompt requesting pretty!Dean and BAMF!John in prison.

John was rarely afraid. Not black dogs, poltergeists or ghouls did a thing aside from make him alert and ready for a fight. Hunting was a dangerous lifestyle and he knew the risks. As long as his neck was the one on the line, it was a risk he was willing to take. Once his boys became involved then, and only then, was he genuinely afraid.

Right now, John was terrified.

He hadn’t wanted his youngest to leave for Stanford because he’d needed Sam by his side where he could keep him safe. Now the son who had remained was the one in danger from far worst things than vengeful spirits.

It was all John’s fault.

Dean had seen the risk. His son had realized there were backup security alarms and John had done more than ignore him. He’d told Dean he needed to leave the break-in to someone who knew what they were doing.

It turned out John should have left the whole job to Dean.

Even as John had been pointing out how much time could have been wasted by bothering with imaginary alarms, the silent alarm had been notifying the authorities. The cops had already been on the way.

John could handle prison. This was just a county lockup. He’d slept in worse places, eaten worse meals and trusted his life to less savory hunters. What he didn’t trust any of these men with was his son.

It wasn’t something that any father liked to admit to being aware of, but his child was attractive. Not in the ruggedly handsome sense that only turned the head of every girl who walked by. Dean was that too – he could have any girl he wanted with a play of a smirk on his lips. But it wasn’t only the girls.

In the back alley of bars, unbeknownst to Dean, John had beaten more than a few men to the ground for their disgusting comments about what they wanted to do to his boy. At some point, every one of the men had said the same thing.

Each one had said Dean was pretty.

He’d thought Dean would outgrow it, that eventually his son would lose the soft features of his mother’s face. It gutted John that he had to wish for that because so much of Dean did remind him of Mary. It was like part of her was truly still with them. John had to pray that Dean would lose that gentle face only because of what other men would want to do with it.

Pretty was vulnerable. Pretty was too damn tempting to be waving around a prison full of sex-deprived inmates.

Dean didn’t even know. John had done everything in his power to make sure that Dean had never heard the men’s words. Some slipped, but John had been able to cover them well enough as the stupid antics of drunk bastards.

How could he possibly tell his son?

It was bad enough for a father to have to explain to their daughter why she couldn’t wear a certain skirt, but Dean was his son. Dean was a strong, capable fighter who could take down the things of nightmares. It would crush Dean to know that some other men didn’t see him that way – that they didn’t watch him because they respected his prowess, but because they wanted him on his knees begging for them.

On the outside, maybe Dean no longer need John defending his virtue with other men. As hard as it was for John to accept, at the age of twenty-two, Dean was a man himself now. Dean was old enough and strong enough to kick any man’s ass, but he shouldn’t have to. That was what boiled John’s blood.

It didn’t matter how old Dean was, he would always be John’s little boy and anyone who wanted to use or degrade his son would have to come through John first.

The problems started the moment they arrived.

As soon as they were released into general population, all eyes were on Dean. Here he couldn’t shield his son from the comments and, in reality, maybe Dean needed to hear them to know to be on guard. That didn’t make John hate it any less.

He saw the dreaded understanding work through his son’s overly expressive eyes.

Dean had said not to worry. In response to John’s vague warnings on the way here, Dean had assured him that he knew what kind of things could happen to a man in prison. John had struggled and failed to find the words to tell his son that the problem was Dean wasn’t just any other inmate.

But Dean was already seeing it for himself. They were admitted with a group of other fresh arrivals and it only took Dean a minute to realize he was the sole target of the lewd comments being thrown at them.

John clamped his jaw as he watched his usually cocky son first bristle then subtly curl into himself as if he could hide in plain sight. Dean’s nerves were too raw and too close to the surface. It only made him more vulnerable.

He elbowed his son, just hard enough to draw back his attention. Dean jumped and was half way to curling his fists before he realized it had only been John.

“Look alive, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

Someone to the side laughed, a grating sound that now had John’s fists tightening. He didn’t have to look to know the chuckle was aimed towards them.

When he looked over, he saw a man older than himself and with enough visible scars to prove that he was a fighter too. Although, John couldn’t help but think if the man had received that many scars fighting only humans then he really couldn’t be that good at it.

“Something funny?” John asked.

If he was going to protect Dean here then he would have to make it crystal clear from the start that he could hold his own. He would more than happily prove he was willing to lay waste to anyone who even thought about touching his son.

John didn’t fail to notice how many people were watching the lazy steps as the man walked towards them. This wasn’t some random inmate. This was someone who had power here and looked intent on claiming more. What John really noticed was that the man’s eyes were on Dean.

The man tilted his head and chuckled. “I just think it’s cute when a bitch knows its place.”

John had been too busy watching the man to see that Dean had already had enough. His son’s eyes were locked with the other inmate, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Bite me,” Dean growled.

Again the man laughed, this time low and humorless before he reared back his arm and cracked a vicious backhand across Dean’s cheek. His son stumbled to the side, almost losing his footing from the force of the blow.

There was no time for John to see whether or not Dean had fallen before he was on the other man. While the man may have been expecting retaliation, he hadn’t been prepared for John Winchester.

Beating him down was easy. The only hard part was showing enough restraint not to kill the bastard just on principal.

John didn’t kill him, but he didn’t sweat the cracking of ribs either. It would be enough to put this one out of commission until John could get Dean out of here.

“Dad, behind you!”

At Dean’s warning, John swerved around to see another couple men running up behind him. He stopped just short of breaking the first man’s nose when the uniforms registered. Immediately, he held his hands out and took a step back.

“I don’t want any trouble,” John said before directing his next words to the rest of the prison population, “but no one hurts my son.”

The closest guard looked between the groaning, bloody man on the ground and Dean, who was staring blankly at the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His cheek was already coloring, blood trickling from the split skin. Finally the officer’s eyes settled on John, who met the guard’s gaze with nothing but sincerity.

He didn’t want to fight. All he wanted was to lie low and get out of here as soon as possible. Bobby was already working on it, but there was no telling how long it would take.

“This is your first and last warning,” the guard replied. “Any more trouble out of you and we’re going to have a problem.”

John gave a sharp nod of agreement. “Yes, sir.”

He couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again. All he could hope was that the display had been enough to deter anyone else who thought Dean was available for the taking.

It wasn’t until the guards were gone and the other inmate had been hauled off that John saw the barely concealed hostility in his son’s eyes. When he tried to get Dean to look at him, his son turned his head away.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Dean said. “I’m nobody’s bitch. I can take care of myself.”

John’s sigh was weary as he flexed his aching knuckles. “I know you can, son.”

“Then just give me a chance. I’m not some fucking damsel in distress.”

“Never said you were.” Despite the concern broiling in his gut, he sent his son a wry grin. “I was trying to go easy on him to save you a murder charge.”

The corner of Dean’s lips crept up and the tight defensiveness eased from his shoulders. “Thanks, Dad.”

Things were better after that.

The other inmates did keep their distance while John sat with his son in the courtyard, back to the fence so he could survey the entire yard without anyone sneaking up behind them. They discussed how to finish up the current hunt and where they might want to go next.

Aside from being locked behind prison gates and the scratchy uniform, it was actually a decent day. Things were relatively calm. The weather was just warm enough without being too hot and Dean was more talkative than he had been in weeks.

Most of their time had been spent in weighted silence since Sam had left. John was fairly certain that Dean blamed him. Dean had never said as much, never would.

Sam, like Mary, was an off limit topic – something that drove their lives but was too painful to put to words. Even if Dean didn’t blame him, John blamed himself enough for them both. He’d been too proud to call Sam back when he’d still had a chance.

At least Sam wasn’t here. It would be enough of a fight to get Dean through this unscathed. John wasn’t deluded enough to think that they had suddenly gotten lucky and could just skate through the rest of their time here.

Already, John had cornered Dean’s cellmate, and made it clear under no uncertain terms that just one look or comment to his son would result in life threatening injury. The threat, more like a promise, had proven unnecessary.

As far as prison roommates went, Jack, who was serving time for vehicular homicide while driving drunk, was fairly innocuous. He was married and had children of his own. Rather than rallying against John’s threat, Jack had said he wouldn’t stick his neck out for Dean, but he would let John know if he heard anyone planning anything.

Things went well enough until the next day when John realized the daily showers mentioned on their admittance weren’t a suggestion. Dean shrugged it off, claiming it was no big deal, but there was no ignoring the unease in his son’s posture or the way he avoided meeting John’s eyes.

“You can leave your boxers on,” John suggested.

After a glance to the dozen or so fully nude men washing in their own respective areas of the showers, Dean shook his head. “Screw that. I did go to school. It’s not like I’ve never been in a damn locker room.”

With that, Dean pulled off his shirt and a moment later, shoved down his pants. This was nothing like high school and, by this point, Dean damn well knew that.

John followed suit, remaining at the same shower stall as Dean until he noticed his son’s wide-eyes. “Dad, seriously?” Dean’s tone was a low hiss. “Get your own damn shower.”

This was hardly the first time John had seen Dean naked. It had barely been six month ago that John had needed to strip the sopping clothes from his hypothermic son so he could lay him in a warm bath.

Dean had never been shy about his body around either John or Sam. There was no reason to be. They’d all seen everything before. If one thing was a luxury in their way of life, it was privacy.

So now of course, when John needed to watch Dean more than ever, his son decided to become self-conscious.

John reluctantly stepped away from Dean, forcing himself to turn his back and pretend to give his son some semblance of privacy. He turned on the shower a couple stalls over, letting the water splash noisily over him while sending lethal glares to the few men who dared to eye Dean when they thought John wasn’t looking.

He allowed himself a moment to relax into the heat of the shower, tipping his head forward so the water ran over his aching shoulders. Silently, he promised to never again curse the worn springs of junky motel room beds. They were luxurious compared to the sorry mattress pads of these cells.

His eyes closed for only a moment before he heard a sharp, low whistle. It was quiet enough to nearly be disguised beneath the echo of water splattering over the bathroom’s tiles. He shot his eyes open, looking in the direction of the sound.

Dean’s cellmate stood at one of the other shower stalls and was staring right at him. In reply to John’s questioning look, Jack nodded his head behind John. He spun around to see that Dean’s shower was still running, but his son was no longer beneath it.

A bout of panic clenched John’s chest. When he glanced back towards Jack, the inmate gave a vague wave of his hand to the corner of the showers then returned to his bathing as if he’d said nothing at all.

John didn’t bother to grab a towel as he stalked towards the corner where he hadn’t realized there was another set of showers. He nearly walked straight into a group of four men.

All were naked and none of them were showering.

Two of the men stood on either side of Dean, restraining his arms with a bruising grip. A third man stood behind his son, chest pressed tightly to Dean’s bare back, hips grinding lazily against him. The man hadn’t penetrated his son, but rubbed his erection obscenely along the curves of Dean’s backside.

Dean stood rigidly stiff without struggling, which was enough to alert John that he was missing something.

He watched the hands of the man behind Dean. Large fingers gripped and twisted one of Dean’s nipples, hard enough to drag a strangled groan from his son. Reluctantly, John’s eyes wandered down to where the man’s other hand was stuffed between Dean’s thighs. John couldn’t see what those fingers were doing.

These men had just taken their last breaths.

“Dad, don’t.”

His son’s shaky words stopped him mid step. John’s eyes narrowed further. “Let him go.”

“Sorry, Papa Bear,” the man behind Dean said. “You beat down the wrong man. Now you’re gonna have to hand over your pretty little bitch to a new daddy or you’re gonna have yourself a daughter.”

The man repositioned his hand between Dean’s legs so John had a clear view. A thumb stroked Dean’s cock while the man’s other fingers gripped a blade beneath it. A small rivulet of blood was already trailing down Dean’s still-wet, trembling thigh.

What gutted John wasn’t the blood or the man’s words or even the shank pressed into his son’s groin. It was Dean’s wide eyes, filled with terror and shame that his naked son fought to conceal.

It was everything John had sworn he’d never let happen to Dean.

John swallowed it down. With a deep inhale he took that rage and guilt and coiled it just below the surface. His eyes were disturbingly calm when he fixed his gaze on the man who was doing something between his son’s thighs to draw whimpers from his boy.

“You really that afraid of me?” John asked. “Not that I blame you, but hiding behind a bitch – what exactly does that make you?”

“Not stupid,” the man answered easily. He drew the shank from Dean’s thighs, running the side of the dirty blade over the flat of Dean’s stomach. “I know you got something here and you’d hate to see it marked up by someone that’s not you.” He gave an impressed whistle. “And damn have you marked the hell out of this bitch.”

The man’s fingers traced over parallel lines of fairly fresh scars that crossed over Dean’s ribs. Dean had been sliced open, could have been gutted, saving a farmer’s family from a black dog. Meanwhile, the man who held his selfless son hostage had probably been murdering another family in their beds.

“Just one more nick and you’re gonna wish you got off with your boss’s beating,” John warned.

With an amused chuckle that raised the hair at the nape of John’s neck, the man ghosted the blade over Dean’s left nipple. His son took in a sharp breath and closed his eyes as the rusted metal bit into his skin.

“Oops,” the man said.

With one swift motion he swiped the blade from just below Dean’s nipple, across his chest and belly. The shallow, jagged cut traveled all the way down to the hollow of Dean’s right hip. Dean gritted his teeth and tipped his head back, choking down a muffled cry.

The man had just surrendered his only advantage.

John was on them in an instant, throwing a fist to one man’s face, an elbow to the other’s and knocking his head into the man who stood behind his son. In a flash of movement, he grabbed the man’s wrist and paid no attention when the shank clattered from the inmate’s grip. He kept right on twisting the bones until he heard the audible snap.

“Out of the way, Dean!”

At John’s barked order, his son stumbled a few feet back. He must have stepped out of the blind spot and back into the guards’ view because a moment later John heard the warning shout and the pounding of boots rushing towards them.

John was grabbed from behind, but knew better than to fight, letting his arms be jerked behind his back. He was spun around to face the guard who was clearly overwhelmed trying to take in the scene.

Three naked men were curled up on the floor. John couldn’t care less about their state when he saw his son struggling against two guards that were trying to restrain him in the same way two of the men on the floor just had.

“Enough, Dean.” The words were another clear order that froze Dean in place. Once he had his son’s attention, John's voice softened. “They’re not trying to hurt you.”

Dean’s eyes darted wildly between the officers, the men on the floor and finally settled on John. His son gave a hesitant nod, clenching his jaw as the guards twisted his arms behind his back. Dean’s chest was heaving, only accentuating the long line of blood smeared the length of his bare torso.

“They attacked my son,” John said.

“I can see that,” the guard said as he pushed John forward. “We’re gonna take him to the infirmary and you’re gonna get some pants on for me so you can take a little visit up to solitary. We already had you down for a warning.”

John twisted in the guard’s grip. “I’m not leaving my son.”

“Don’t you worry, Johnny,” one of the bloodied inmates sneered, showing off a fresh gap in his teeth. “We’ll take real good care of your pretty bitch. Get all those hard to reach spots.”

“You’re gonna shut your Jack-o-lantern mouth, Don, unless you want another month tacked onto the one you’re already getting in the hole,” one of the guards replied before John could.

There was now a group of guards swarming the showers, calling for stretchers for the men on the floor. Two of guards were manhandling his naked son in the opposite direction they were taking John.

“Dad?”

The guards holding Dean might as well not have been there for all the attention his son wasn’t giving them.

Dean would either walk away calmly or fight to the death, based on the next words that came out of John’s mouth. It was a weight of responsibility that rested heavy on his shoulders.

While Sam had never understood the need to follow orders, Dean was loyal and obedient nearly to a fault. The unwavering trust Dean had in him, the faith that John could see him through this, was nearly too much.

Despite what John wanted, which was his son by his side, Dean was already scared and hurting. There was no reason to force any more trouble. The guards were trying to help and these were only humans they were dealing with here.

John soon found himself sitting alone, listening to the hollow echo of cell doors sliding open and closed around him. He gave only a disregarding glance to his surroundings, a small, windowless cell. Everything was shades of grey beneath the stark artificial light.

On the corner of the bed, he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in hands. All he could see was the playback of Dean being molested right in front of his face. They had taken his son from less than ten feet away. He should’ve heard them. He should’ve been able to stop them before any of this had happened.

Now Dean was out there alone and fighting wounded.

They’d only kept John isolated overnight. It had seemed like years. As soon as he was released back into general population, he went searching for his son. Several rounds through the commons and the yard and he’d still found no trace of Dean.

By his fourth round, he was ready to start interrogating guards. Luckily, he ran into Jack first. Dean’s cellmate was coming back from the cafeteria and eyed him warily as John made a beeline for him.

“Where is he?” John asked.

“Let’s get one thing straight, pal, I’m not your kid’s babysitter so you can drop that drill sergeant tone. I gotta listen to enough of that shit around here.” Jack glanced around before again glaring at John, his voice quieter this time. “He ain’t here.”

“Where the hell is he?”

“They dragged him to the hole this morning.” A smiled edged onto Jack’s lips. “Word has it, that little fucker fights dirtier than you.”

Pride swelled in John’s chest until the full reality of the statement settled in. Dean had been in a position where he’d had to fight and after John had told Dean to cooperate, his son would have only lashed out if things had gotten bad.

“They went after him,” John said flatly.

It wasn’t a question or a surprise. John had spent the night sleepless with the knowledge that Dean had been left as isolated as himself, but without the safety of prison bars to keep the other inmates from him. As long as John sat alone in a cell, no one had his son's back.

He'd only been able to hope they would hold Dean in the infirmary overnight, although he had known it was a long shot. It would be a cold day in hell before luck would run their way.

“What happened?” John asked.

Jack shrugged. “I didn’t see it and everyone’s been talking about it to the point they ain’t saying much real anymore. All I can figure is a group of guys jumped him. If you believe the stories, the guards found him with his uniform half ripped off and covered in blood that wasn’t his.”

That was a story John did believe because that pretty face these men saw distracted them from the truth. Dean was a lethal hunter and as much as John had a need to protect him, Dean really was capable of making his own way. He was a lot more than the scared little boy that even John had trouble seeing past.

Come visiting hours late that afternoon, John found himself sitting across the table from Bobby, who had pulled some favors to get the charges against him and his son dropped.

Bobby had half jokingly said there hadn’t been much of a fight about it. The prison officials were more than happy to get the Winchesters out from behind their bars. John couldn’t be happier to go.

They brought his son back to him in handcuffs.

Dean was dressed this time, but he was beaten to hell. His lip was split, his left eye nearly swollen shut. There was a defensive unease in his posture and his good eye didn’t quite meet John’s as he forced a crooked grin.

“Should’ve seen the other guys,” Dean said as the guard released his restraints.

John patted his son’s back, leading him towards the exit. He would be seeing the other guys soon enough. Once John had told Bobby what they’d done to Dean, the other hunter hadn’t hesitated in pulling one more favor to get John a copy of the records for the men involved.

Bobby had gone and viewed the security footage of the fight John hadn’t seen. John knew Dean would never tell him, but the men hadn’t just beaten him. They’d tried to gang rape his son.

It wasn’t clear from the tape how far they’d gotten, or at least that was what Bobby had told him. John wasn’t sure if it was the truth or if the hunter was just trying to protect him.

He was afraid it was the latter given how quick Bobby had been to condone John’s plan to pay each of the men a visit. In good time. Right now, he wanted only to focus on his son, who was safe for the moment.

“I heard,” John said, “and you were right.”

Regardless of what those eight men had done to Dean, regardless of what they’d tried to do, his son had fought them off long enough for the guards to arrive. There were very few men who would’ve even tried, let alone been able.

Dean might not be anyone’s bitch, but he was still John’s son and some things would never change.

John put an arm around Dean’s shoulder, pulling him closer and letting out a breath as his tensed son relaxed against him. “But just because you can take care of yourself, doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”


End file.
